Talking about it felt like pressing my fingers into the wound, the words stiff and clumsy. “After Angelica told everyone, I was the talk of the school. They weren’t openly homophobic, but . . .

there were a bunch of little things. People would whisper behind my back or write nasty things on the stalls in the girls’ bathroom. Guys would tell me to make out with random girls in the hallway for them because they thought it was hot. Some of the girls refused to change in the same locker room as me before PE.” I inhaled shakily. “At some point, I just couldn’t take it anymore. I went to my parents and told them about everything.”

“How did they react?”

I had to gulp at the memory of them sitting at the kitchen table with me, faces as pale as the wallpaper, my mom white-knuckled as she clutched onto the cup of tea that had gone cold by then, like it was some kind of life raft that would keep her afloat in the flood of awful words that streamed from my mouth.

“They were heartbroken,” I said. “Not because I’m lesbian—

they didn’t care about that at all—but because I had been too afraid to tell them. Dad took me out of school for the last few weeks before the holidays and Mom looked up boarding schools. And that’s why I’m here now.”

“I’m glad you are,” Noelle murmured. “But I also want to punch those assholes for making you go through that.”

“Not with your lack of technique,” I said, trying my best to make my voice sound light. “We haven’t gotten that far in our training yet.”

Noelle’s expression didn’t change. “Is all of that the reason you started taking self-defense lessons?”

“Yes. I took a course that lasted all summer—it was my dad’s idea. To make me feel more in control again, not as helpless as I did during those months.”

Noelle nodded. Warily, she asked, “So . . . that’s what your nightmares are about now? The bul ying?”

“Yes. I . . . I keep seeing Angelica looking at me with this disgusted expression and then I’m back in the hallways with everyone staring and talking . . .” I broke off, directing my gaze at my hands again. “There’s this feeling of shame that was there even before all of that happened, but it only got really intense when people started looking at me differently and analyzing everything I did. All my bad dreams are drenched in that feeling. And it doesn’t always go away when I wake up.”

“Evelyn.” My eyes shot up when I suddenly felt her hand under my chin, gently lifting it to make me look at her. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing.”

I didn’t know what it was that made my throat clog up with tears—her words, the touch of her fingers, or the earnest look in her brown eyes, warmer than I had ever seen them. Maybe it was a combination of all three. “I know,” I managed to whisper.